


dismantle

by aquamarine_nebula



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Do Not Archive, Fingering, M/M, Post-Episode: 180, Trans Male Character, Trans!Martin, porn held together with a little plot, trans!Jon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26636938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquamarine_nebula/pseuds/aquamarine_nebula
Summary: it's too much to hope that this is it, that they will be safe even for a short time, but hope is a powerful little thing
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 8
Kudos: 114





	dismantle

**Author's Note:**

> the words used for jon and martin's equipment is cunt, clit, and entrance
> 
> bless them they can finally have a shower and na p

The sun almost blinded Jon as he slowly awoke.

It was falling across his face, as if he’d slept in a spotlight. He lifted his arm to shade his arms, but they were tangled in bed sheets.

Bed sheets.

He didn’t open his eyes, patting at the...smooth sheets curiously. The pillow under his head was soft and downy, the body next to his was warm and breathed slowly.

He squinted as he opened his eyes, finally. It was too much to hope that the past nine months were a dream. Too much to hope that they were safe. Frankly, the safehouse in Scotland had rough, scratchy sheets and lumpy pillows, not the decadence he was currently shrouded within.

He shot up, put a hand on Martin’s shoulder as he grumbled and rolled away, but did his best not to wake him. He had vague memories of the...evening? Day? before, definitely remembered seeing Salesa and Annabelle, though he had  _ no _ idea whether they were still here. They could be hiding under the bed for all he knew.

In fact, there was a lot more that he couldn’t see. Basira was faded (not dead, if he  _ strained _ he could just about feel the ebb of her life), the garden, the trenches, the street of children, even, were unfocused and fuzzy. Even the safehouse in Scotland, where he’d always kept one wistful eye, was as if he was looking through a memory. He tried to visualise how far he was from the Panopticon, but all he had was a vague memory of what he’d known before entering whatever domain this was.

Was this what it was like when he was human? No wonder he’d accepted the Eye as his patron.

Martin had rolled back over at some point during his pondering, and buried his face in Jon’s hip, mumbled his name.

“I’m here,” Jon said, running a hand through his hair. It was covered in blood and grime--old blood and grime, as was his own hair. They were still in the clothes they’d worn for the past...half-dozen months? 

Martin opened his eyes and looked up at him, blank confusion turning to suspicion and wariness. “This can’t be good.”

Jon pressed his lips together. “I don’t think it is. But…” he nodded to a door which was ajar. “I’m pretty sure that’s an ensuite there.”

Martin sat up and stared at it, longing overtaking the suspicion. “Five quid says when we turn on the taps spiders come out.”

Money meant nothing in this world, but Jon still held out his hand to shake Martin’s. “I’ll take those odds.”

-

The shower had nothing but water coming from the head, which Martin discovered with a triumphant shout. Jon collected his payment in kisses rather than money--much more tempting--and hunted through cupboards for what seemed like perfectly normal shower gels and shampoos and, god,  _ conditioner _ , before shucking off his clothes with a sigh of relief and stepping under the jet.

It had been a routine during their time in the safehouse to wash each other's hair, spend as much time as possible with the comfort of skin on skin, trading kisses under the water that felt like they could continue until the heat death of the universe. It had been one of Jon’s favourite parts of their tentative routine, something he missed with an ache that burned. It was once they’d washed all the grime and blood that had accumulated over the past months that Martin suggested they fill up the bath and rest.

That was the best idea, and Jon could have fallen asleep again resting in Martin’s arms, feeling the warmth of the water, the slick slide of skin on skin, Martin pressing affectionate kisses against his neck and shoulders.

“We can’t trust this. We can’t trust  _ them _ ,” Jon said, lacing their fingers together.

“I know,” Martin replied. “We’ll leave soon, okay? It’s probably just another domain, there must be something horrible happening somewhere.”

Jon bit his lip.

“And there have to be  _ some _ perks to you being a celebrity. If that means finally being able to take a shower, I’m willing to risk a lot.”

“It was nice,” Jon mused. “I think...from what I could gather around this area before we entered it, I think this place is frozen. Frozen before the end of the world, I mean. But it…” he shook his head as the thought slipped from his mind again and again. “I can’t grasp hold of it. I think Annabelle and Salesa know. Or they did it, somehow.”

Martin was quiet, and still other than the thumb gently skimming over his ribs. He never avoided the scars. As gentle with the marked skin as well as the unmarked.

It caught in his throat sometimes, just how much he loved Martin. Sure, it could come out with simple affirmations and declarations, but it never felt like enough.

Jon cleared his throat, making Martin jump. “I think you caught me. When I passed out.”

He squeezed Jon’s hand. “I think I fell just after, so don’t go calling me your hero just yet.”

“What makes you think you’re not already my hero?”

He smiled against Jon’s temple. “Sure, sure. I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with ‘H’.”

Jon tried to probe for it, out of curiosity more than anything else, and felt nothing. Completely blank, completely wiped. He couldn’t even remember  _ how _ he’d managed to do it before. “I don’t know,” he said, unable to hide the delight. “I even tried to cheat there, and  _ I don’t know _ .”

Martin pinched his side gently. “You’re admitting to cheating? That wasn’t even a hard one, I was going for ‘ _ hero _ ’.”

“It’s the first time I tried to cheat, and it didn’t even work!”

“I don’t believe  _ that _ ,” Martin said, but there was a smile in his voice.

“I feel... _ human _ ,” Jon admitted in a whisper. It was more than terrifying, to lose what he’d come to rely on so heavily, but thrilling. Freeing. He twisted in Martin’s arms a little to urge him closer, so he could press a desperate kiss to his mouth. An awkward position, with his back against Martin’s chest, but not one they had been unused to before. Martin reciprocated quickly, letting Jon lick into his mouth and grasp his curls. The hand that wasn’t clutched tightly in Jon’s hand he gently touched Jon’s face with, along the line of his jaw and cheekbones.

It made Jon shiver. He’d seen first-hand just how strong Martin was, watched with a dry mouth as he carried that massive basket of wood at the safehouse with ease, bit his tongue when he’d almost ripped a door off its hinges when walking through Wonderland House. And yet he was so adamant on being gentle with Jon, actually caring about new scars joining the dozens littered across his body.

Jon squeezed his hand again before moving it down between his legs, breaking off the kiss. “Okay?” he asked in a whisper, and in reply Martin kissed him again, tracing his labia teasingly gently and ignoring Jon’s futile attempts to press those damnable fingers closer.

He was nowhere near to his clit, even keeping his kissing frustratingly chaste, but every nerve ending in Jon’s body was electrified, his breath catching as his hands shook. “I won’t beg,” he muttered against Martin’s mouth, smiled a little when Martin nipped his lower lip.

“Am I a bad person for wanting to savour this?” he asked.

Jon sighed, trying to relax a little more. If Martin wanted to tease him, it was the least he would let him do. “If you  _ must _ ,” he said, before gasping as Martin gave in and pressed his little finger against his entrance. Jon almost laughed, but Martin’s fingers were thick and long. Even just a couple of fingers needed time to build up to with no discomfort. His other hand dropped from his face to tease around his clit and Jon let his legs fall open with a whine.

“Perfect, that’s perfect,” Martin said, already more than a little breathless himself. Jon’s face heated at the praise, and he rocked his hips into Martin’s hand, yelping as his foot slipped on the porcelain. The tub was massive, easily longer than he was tall, so he had nothing to brace against as he slid until he was submerged, flailed in panic, and spluttered when he finally resurfaced. Martin was no help at all, not even bothering to hide his laugh. Jon pinched his thigh and glowered when he finally met his eyes. “I’m sorry, I just had a flashback to that time you were riding my face and fell off the bed.” Just the recollection was enough to set him off again, and Jon did his best to bury his answering smile.

“Yeah, I remember. I remember that it  _ hurt _ .” 

Martin’s laugh was infectious; it always had been, and though Jon could do his best to push any mirth away, after a while it was impossible in the wake of Martin’s laughter.

“You know what the mistake was there, right?”

“No non-slip mat?” Jon asked.

Martin snickered. “The gig’s up Jon, stop pretending to be sixty years old.”

Jon crossed his arms, falling back against Martin’s chest again. “I never pretended to be  _ sixty _ . Are you finished?”

“I didn’t mean  _ that _ mistake. I meant the falling-off-the-bed incident.”

“Oh. I should have pulled you down with me.”

“ _ Wow _ . But no. The bed was too small and we were too close to the edge.” He nodded at the bathroom door. “But  _ that _ is a very large bed.”

Jon pretended to consider. “It definitely is that.”

“I’m not finished.”

“That’s good news.”

Jon was happy to step out of the water at that, pulling the plug on his way. Kissing him was a lot easier with this angle, or it was when Jon hopped up to wrap his legs tightly around Martin’s waist. He shouldn’t feel comfortable here, definitely not enough to be so exposed, but he just... _ did _ . Comfortable enough to make himself vulnerable, even.

Martin placed him on the bed, still kissing and nipping at his mouth, soothing the sting of sharp teeth with his tongue. For that moment, Jon was happy to stay like that, with something comfortable under his back and Martin’s weight warm against his front. But it was still in the back of his mind, the stretch of Martin’s fingers or the warmth of his mouth around his clit. He rocked his hips against Martin, eagerly muffling his groan as he flipped them.

“Not too close to the edge, right?” Jon asked, checking over his shoulder. He winced and urged Martin further up the bed. “I mean, it was  _ fine _ , I  _ guess _ , in the cabin but I don’t think my healing will be the same here.”

Martin furrowed his brow. “You  _ don’t _ ? Shouldn’t that alarm you a little more?”

Jon shrugged. “It’s fine, we’ll worry about it later.”

“Jon--”

He covered Martin’s mouth with his hand. “Later.  _ Please _ .”

Martin didn’t seem fully satisfied, and almost like he was going to continue arguing, but his brow smoothed, and instead he urged Jon further up his body, until his thighs were either side of Martin’s head.

There was always something painfully beautiful about Martin’s expression when they did this, as if there was nothing he could want more than to give all control to Jon, let him set the pace and rhythm. This was rapture and awe, laid out by the movement of his tongue and lips.

Anticipation was heat in his core, and his thighs were shaking even before Martin had his mouth on him.

Jon lowered himself, and he surprised Jon by immediately sucking his clit into his mouth. Jon almost jerked away from the sudden touch, but Martin had already grabbed his waist to keep him close, swirling his tongue around his clit as he sucked. He hummed, more of a satisfied sound than anything else, but the vibration shook Jon to his extremities, made his knees weaken, and he had to brace himself on the headboard. It was unpredictable, whether he used his teeth or lips or tongue, whether he sped up or slowed down, until Jon was barely able to keep pace or balance his weight on his knees. Martin moaned when he tightened a fist in his hair, trying to think about anything else to make this last longer, which undid him. He clenched around Martin’s tongue, before letting himself fall to the side in an ungainly heap, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes.

“I thought I’d last longer,” he admitted, and Martin laughed, manhandling him again to push his thighs apart, and Jon could only clench his fists in the bedsheets as he licked the slick from his thighs, between his folds until Jon was pulling him closer to kiss him. He could feel the slick on his chin, taste it on his tongue. With everything, he’d forgotten just how  _ addictive _ it was, how much he had missed Martin’s touch. Stolen kisses in a nightmare hellscape, with so much knowledge of suffering forced into his mind had pushed out most memories of pleasant touch.

He sighed contentedly when Martin touched him again, much looser when he pressed two fingers against his entrance, sinking them in with much less resistance and twisting them, rubbing against his walls as he kept on kissing him. After so long with nothing, it felt like he’d never been so full in his life, like it was pushing the breath out of his lungs. He had to bite Martin’s shoulder to muffle a cry when he scissored his fingers and rubbed his clit simultaneously.

He wasn’t expecting his second orgasm to hit so close after the first, but maybe almost a year of nothing would do that. Martin paused for a moment to watch him, a breathtaking smile playing around the corners of his lips that Jon couldn’t help but kiss.

Martin was kissing him back calmly, so he was almost surprised to find just how wet he was when he lowered his hand. His fingers were much slimmer so it took no build-up to sink two fingers in, rubbing against soft walls and curving his fingers until he found the bundle of nerves that made him cry out. He rubbed it relentlessly, busying his mouth by biting and sucking marks into his shoulder. A third finger had Martin weakly keening, reaching with his own hand to rub his clit. “Talk to me?” he asked as Jon watched their hands work, fascinated by the sight of his own fingers disappearing into Martin’s body, Martin’s fingers rubbing fast and hard.

Jon swallowed, scissored his fingers. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you look right now? How much I’ve missed this?” he asked, purposefully lowering his voice. He couldn’t influence Martin in this weird pocket of the world, but he knew well enough what his voice had done to Martin even before he’d got his powers.

He blushed down to his chest when he was particularly flustered, and Jon could distract himself for hours thinking about how often that blush was hidden away, how often Martin thought about this.

“Martin?” he asked, and Martin’s breath hitched and his hand paused, and Jon took it to suck the two fingers he’d been rubbing himself with into his mouth. Martin choked when he ran his tongue over the fingers until they were clean, his own cunt throbbing at the memories the taste invoked. “Did you used to imagine this?” he continued, and Martin let out a high-pitched laugh.

“Did I… yes, Jon. I did.”

He’d been too worried to ask before, too worried that the sensations would lead to a looser grip of the Beholding, that he would pull things out of Martin that he wouldn’t want Jon to know. But here they were a  _ normal _ couple. “What did you imagine?” he asked, leaning down to kiss him as sweetly as he could. “This?”

“Pretty much every time I handed you a cup of tea,” Martin admitted, but he didn’t look away from Jon. 

Jon shivered, dotting a line of kisses down his chest to his nipple, closing his mouth around it and pulling it gently into his mouth with his teeth. “This?”

Martin grinned. “Well, no. I have basically no sensation there after the surgery.”

Jon sighed. “Fine. You must have thought that there was a better use for my mouth, though.”

“That...is accurate.”

“What would you have done?” He settled comfortably between Martin’s legs, close enough that he would feel the breath brushing against his cunt. He could see Martin breathing raggedly, trying to control the way he squirmed at the feeling of Jon’s fingers still slowly moving in and out.

“It’s more what I wanted  _ you _ to do.” Jon dropped a kiss on his thigh in encouragement. “Mostly I just wanted you to beg for me. Sit me in your chair and suck me off from under the desk.”

Jon kissed a spot higher up on his thigh. “That chair had terrible back support. Better if you used the desk. Or the floor. Or...the  _ bed _ , Martin, there was a bed.”

“I thought about that too!” Martin insisted. “Honestly, there was nothing I thought about more than you joining me in that terrible bed, but that’s a different fantasy. Okay, it’s...it’s about the desperation, I guess? That we just couldn’t help it, just had to have each other there and then. Most of the time we didn’t even bother to switch off the tape recorder. I know it’s not realistic, but that’s the fantasy part, ok?”

“Semantics,” Jon said. “There were plenty of times in Scotland when we didn’t make it to the bed.”

“The office, you know. The danger, risk of someone walking in...that’s exciting.”

“Yes, I  _ get _ it.”

“And isn’t there a better use for your mouth right now?”

Jon snickered, leaning the couple of centimetres it took to lightly kiss his labia. “What about in the breakroom? When you were staying in the archives. Me begging to put my mouth on you. You’d have remembered it every time you walked in.” He pressed an open-mouthed kiss on his labia again, scraping his teeth against it and soothing it with his tongue.

“That might have killed me,” Martin said, his voice strangled and breathless. He knew the beard had been a good idea, more than booting one aspect of his dysphoria out of the window. The sensation, from one time Martin had let him pull it from his mind as he was going down on him, was almost overwhelming, as if he could feel each individual hair against his skin.

He removed his fingers to replace them with his tongue, a development that had Martin bucking against his face with a groan, licked from his entrance to his clit a few times to let his beard rub against him, before taking his clit into his mouth and sucking. Martin wasn’t doing anything but moaning, rocking his hips against Jon’s face, watching Jon with wild eyes that screwed tight shut when Jon took his hands and placed them on his head. He started pulling Jon’s hair immediately, setting the pace, accepting Jon’s wordless request to use him. “Your fingers as well,  _ please _ , Jon,” he said, and Jon obeyed.

It wasn’t as if Martin tasted  _ delicious _ , or anything--none of his partners ever had and he was willing to bet no one did--but even after all this time it was familiar, a reminder of Scotland, of lazy morning kisses turning into grasping and desperate touches, of muffling laughter against Martin’s thighs. It was all memory that made him desperate for more of Martin’s touch, and he couldn’t help but touch himself as Martin bit into his own arm and clenched around his fingers. He kept his mouth on him until Martin was desperately pushing him back, squirming at the oversensitivity, letting Jon clamber into his arms and let his heart slow in tandem to Martin’s.

He was almost ready to fall asleep again in Martin’s arms, hopefully with much sweeter dreams, but Martin shifted under him. “I am so hungry right now,” he said in wonder. “Do you think there’s any food here?”

“Probably? As far as I can tell, Salesa is still human. More than me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not hungry,” he admitted quietly. “After the coma I didn’t  _ need _ to eat, I just did it out of habit. I don’t know how long it’ll be until I need a statement, but…” He sat up and shrugged. “Not human.”

Martin followed him, kissing him, warm, large hands against his sides, the tip of his tongue against Jon’s lips. “Plenty human enough for me,” he said, and Jon was about to attempt to tempt him to another round when there was a knock at the door.

Just the same as any unexpected ‘ _ knock, knock _ ’, it shot a paralysing wave of terror through his body and he froze. It hadn’t escaped his notice just how…  _ webby _ this all was, even if the house itself was spotlessly clean. 

“Are you awake?” A pleasant voice called out from behind the closed door.

Martin rubbed his back comfortingly, and Jon pressed his face into his shoulder. “Yes?”

“Good! Breakfast will be ready in about fifteen minutes. Use the shower, and there are clean clothes in the wardrobe.”

Martin paused. “Okay. Thank you, Annabelle.”

“That’s no trouble, Mr Blackwood.” The sound of too many legs skittering away from the door, and Jon looked at Martin in terror. 

“Might as well find out her story, right?”


End file.
